


Secrets are in the Whiskey and the Barrels are Rolling Out of Bound

by victoriousscarf



Series: Secrets/Whiskey [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Dubious Morality, Multi, Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories based on <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3377786/chapters/7388348">Leave Your Secrets and Kiss the Whiskey from My Lips</a>, a 1920s gangster Silmarillion AU.</p><p>Prequels, deleted scenes, and anything else it ends up warping into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finrod/Curufin "Choke Chain"

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a [tumblr prompt](http://victoriousscarf.tumblr.com/post/116897211327/i-had-the-most-difficult-time-deciding-on-a-ship) from [ilivethegoldenlife](http://ilivethegoldenlife.tumblr.com/)
> 
> "Sex and Violence" by the Scissor Sisters was very much on repeat. 
> 
> Prompt was "Things you say when you're drunk." This one is set pre the main timeline, probably only a couple weeks after they first slept together.

“You have drunk before?” Finrod said, sounding and looking amused and Curufin scowled.

“Of course I have,” he snapped, but stolen hooch and sips of the stronger stuff was not the almost full glass of whiskey Finrod was dangling in front of him. Finrod smiled like he knew that so Curufin snatched the glass out of his hand. “Is this not a lot whiskey for one glass?”

“Yes,” Finrod said, because it was a tumblr, meant for something not nearly so strong. 

“Should it not be about a finger?” Curufin asked, seeing how many fingers he could press against the glass.

“This saves the pouring,” Finrod said, and his hair caught the light and they were alone. Curufin wished they had skipped all this talk of drinking and fallen into Finrod’s bed instead. 

He much preferred that. 

Instead he tossed back too much of the whiskey and felt it burn all the way down, vaguely hearing Finrod’s quiet sound. “You are supposed to savor it,” he said, his voice almost a caress and Curufin felt like it was right against his throat. 

“I am savoring it,” he said, and Finrod’s mouth curled. 

Everything blurred after that, between the burn in his throat and stomach, and Finrod’s gentle voice. Even though Finrod stayed across the table, Curufin felt like he had been touched all night, and his hand was trembling by the time he approached the end of the second tumbler. 

Curufin got distracted because Finrod still wore his necklace, though he had discarded his jacket and undone the first few buttons of his shirt. He sprawled back across his chair, all golden and crisp white shirt and Curufin’s mouth was totally dry.

“You should not wear that necklace in public,” Curufin said,

Finrod’s hand drifted up, stroking the jewels and Curufin did not realize he whimpered until he heard the sound echo back to him. “Oh?” Finrod asked, looking at him with hazy eyes. 

“It makes you too desirable,” Curufin said and bit his tongue. 

Getting drunk with Celegorm on cheap booze had never felt so dangerous as this. 

Finrod’s eyes were wide and too much like jewels themselves. “What?” he asked, and Curufin realized he had caught his cousin flat footed and shocked. 

“It makes you too desirable,” Curufin repeated, slowly, like he was talking to a child. Finrod’s eyes barely had time to narrow before he continued on. “It makes you appear vulnerable, for one. Someone could pull you around with that jeweled leash, could break the chain against your throat. Those gems could bruise or strangled if pulled the other way.”

“And that is what you think of with desire?” Finrod asked, and there was something dark behind his eyes.

Curufin opened his mouth, closed it, and barreled on. “It draws attention to the line of your throat, to the color of your skin. It reflects light, makes you look dazzling,” and Finrod looked a little dazed himself. “It makes you too much. You are already enough without it.”

“What a compliment,” Finrod said softly, and his long fingers were still running across the gems, blond hair shining in the low light. If Curufin did not touch him soon he thought he might have to crawl for the door to escape. “It has a name, you know.”

“Are you  _fucking_  kidding me?” Curufin muttered because of  _course_  the necklace had a name. 

“The Nauglamir,” Finrod said, and the way his mouth lingered over the vowels made Curufin shiver. His fingers were wrapped around the glass tightly enough he feared he would break it. “It was a gift. I must wear it, to show my appreciation.”

“It is a choke chain,” Curufin said.

“It has not choked me yet,” Finrod replied, mild, and he moved before Curufin could register it, mind soaked with drink and  _want._  

He moaned, wanton and loud in the empty room when Finrod leaned over the table, those fingers curling around his chin and jerking their mouths together. Over the last few weeks Curufin had learned Finrod’s mouth and he fell back into muscle memory, dropping his lips open and tilting his face enough to avoid Finrod’s nose. It was wet and warm, and he caught Finrod’s breath in his own lungs, trying to remember if any of their other kisses had been quite this sloppy. The taste of whiskey was on Finrod’s tongue and he sucked at it, trying to pull it off. 

When Finrod opened his mouth wider and leaned back enough to suck in air, Curufin smirked and tangled his fingers up in the Nauglamir. Finrod’s breath stuttered and stopped as he threw his head back. 

“A choke chain,” Curufin murmured and this time Finrod did not disagree. “How god damned beautiful,” Curufin breathed and swallowed Finrod’s next groan. Rising, he unbalanced Finrod, who caught himself against the table even as Curufin’s grip on his necklace kept them mostly pressed together. 

Curufin led him to the bed, fingers twisted up in the metal links and between the jewels. 


	2. Finrod/Curufin "On Nights Like These"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod and Curufin's first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, set pre-timeline. And before the fic that comes immediately before this.
> 
> Oh my god. This was not my plan of what I was gonna do with my day. It is also, incidentally, longer than an average chapter of the main story. I'm not even sure why I'm surprised.
> 
> Perhaps somewhat relevant: Curufin is 18-19 and Finrod is about 23.

It was raining and Curufin snarled a curse up to the sky.

“How is that going to help?” Celegorm asked, wry and pained from where he hung off his brother, his other arm pressed against his stomach, staunching the blood.

“I cannot fucking carry you all the way home,” Curufin said, still a snarl behind his teeth. “It is too far and you are too _heavy_.”

“Nargothrond is not that far away,” Celegorm remarked.

“You must be joking,” Curufin shot back. “Go to—”

“Our cousin,” Celegorm reminded him. “Who may not be happy to see us, but he probably will not try and shoot us or turn us into the police. Did you see the way that woman that passed us stared? We will be lucky to get out of this block without being picked up.”

“They have no proof we did anything,” Curufin said.

Celegorm’s smile was sharp in the streetlights. “Except get shot, I know. They do not always need it.”

Closing his eyes, Curufin sucked in a deep breath because he was cold everywhere except where Celegorm was a furnace pressed to his side. “How far is Nargothrond?”

“Turn down this alley,” Celegorm said.

“I do not even know the password,” Curufin mumbled, as they walked. “I only keep up with our own clubs, not our cousins.”

“He will let us in,” Celegorm said with total certainty. Curufin sometimes wondered where he got it from, when he was bleeding and could not support himself.

“I hope you are correct,” he muttered, following Celegorm’s directions as he dragged him through the back alleys where no light reached. The rain still pounded down on their heads and he felt like a drowned rat when they finally reached the small, unassuming looking wood door.

“Password?” the guard at the door asked, barely taking a look at them.

“I do not have it,” Curufin snarled and that got the man’s attention. “Please let my _cousin,_ Finrod, know we are here and desire aid.”

“Need aid,” Celegorm corrected and Curufin’s fingers dug into his waist in anger. He barely reacted to it.

The guard took in their appearance and it was clear from his expression he had matched their descriptions up with names, as well as noticed the blood. “Go down,” he said after a beat. “Finrod has standing orders to admit his cousins.”

“Good,” Curufin said, trying to sweep regally past the guard, even with his clothes heavy and soaking, his hat lost somewhere in the storm, and Celegorm staggering and bleeding against him.

The staircase was as unassuming as the door, simple wooden steps turning into stone near the bottom. But they were plain and a little worn. Curufin curled his lip because Nargothrond was a legend and so far it appeared to only be pathetic hype.

Until he realized the end of the staircase curved slightly at the end, and as they turned the corner they reached the last step and Curufin came to a complete stop, because he had been wrong.

Nargothrond was the most beautiful thing he had seen, all gold and glitter and intense wealth laid out casually, as if it was aware of its own beauty to the point in no longer preening or bragging about it. It did not have to because it knew.

Gold work laced the walls, sliding up columns and along the bar and all this delicate beauty was set against dark and heavy stone, which looked like it had always been there and always would.

And here Curufin stood, making a puddle on the floor, still supporting Celegorm, and the patrons were beautiful and glittering too, though dull and tame compared to the room itself. “Curufin?” Celegorm asked, and his voice was a little weaker then it usually was.

“Do you see Finrod?” Curufin asked, finding his voice and hating how much the place had taken his breath away, how much he ached to possess such a beautiful thing.

“No,” Celegorm groaned, and there were people starting to notice them now. For some reason Curufin found his eyes caught on the cat sitting on the bar and held there. The cat sat with its tail curled over its paws and a sparkling jeweled collar around his throat and Curufin had never expected to see such a sight and yet it fit in with this place.

It made him want to scream.

There was a scuffle directly in front of them, and suddenly the crowd parted to reveal Finrod, a body guard at his shoulder and several others following him. “Cousins,” Finrod said and Curufin stared openly.

He had seen his cousin throughout the years, looking beautiful and somber in his tailored dark suits, dark hat perched on his golden hair and the fabric against the cream of his skin and the gold of his hair had made a portrait worthy contrast. His cousin always looked like a work of art, and he talked slowly and deliberately, long fingered hands moving gracefully through the air.

He looked very different from how he looked now.

Now, Finrod stood in his domain, in his kingdom, and he was its king. He stood relaxed and confident, every motion liquid and aware. There was no hat on his head, and his golden hair caught the warm light of the chandeliers and reflected it back, almost looking like spun gold. More so, he was not even wearing a suit jacket, only rolled up sleeves and a vest and instead of a tie, he wore a necklace around his throat.

He wore a necklace and Curufin’s mouth had parted as he stared.

Finrod had been beautiful before but that was nothing to how he looked here, in this realm he had built and that reflected him back. Curufin wanted to reach his fingers past the jewels of the necklace and dig them into the soft white skin of Finrod’s throat and strangle the air from him for having such beauty.

Celegorm had been talking, he realized, as he stared.

“Of course,” Finrod said and Curufin swallowed, clicking his jaw shut too hard. He had forgotten how Finrod’s voice sounded. “Come, there are rooms in the back and I will have someone tend to your wound. You are both welcome to stay the night here.”

“And what will we owe you for this favor?” Curufin demanded, finding his voice and he could feel Celegorm sigh against him, though it was silent. They were still dripping and everyone was still staring at them.

“You are family,” Finrod said and gestured as he turned and walked away. Celegorm was a heavy weight against him and Curufin followed. He did not think he would make it back up the stairs with Celegorm anyway. “Here,” Finrod said, after they wove their way through the floor. Curufin resented Nargothrond more with each step. Finrod pushed open and door, and it was a relatively small and sparse room, but there was a bed. “You may leave Celegorm here.”

“Leave?” Curufin demanded, even as he helped his brother down onto the bed, tried to shield his wince of pain from where Finrod and the others stood at the door.

“Yes,” Finrod said, as another man pressed into the room, a heavy looking black bag in one hand. “I promise no harm will come to him here, I only wish for his wounds to be seen to.  But while that is happening, you should be seen to as well.”

“What?” Curufin asked, mind blanking because Finrod did not mean what for a moment Curufin’s lust drenched mind thought he meant.

“It is late,” Finrod said, and there was an amused smile on his face. “You are wet and must be getting cold. I have had food arranged to be sent back here, and perhaps some dry clothes. Come. I do not intend for my cousins to be harmed after I offered them my hospitality.”

“It will be fine,” Celegorm said, and Curufin realized he was dripping onto the bed.

“Alright,” he agreed after a beat, leaning down for a moment to press his cold cheek against Celegorm’s. “I will burn this place down if they do hurt you,” he whispered.

Celegorm laughed and it looked like it hurt him. “I would expect nothing less,” he murmured, breathe brushing Curufin’s ear, and only then did Curufin straighten and follow Finrod. The bodyguard he noticed earlier went with them into another room, further down the hall. It seemed clear this was Finrod’s actual apartment and Curufin stopped, still dripping in the doorway.

“Come in,” Finrod gestured and Curufin slinked in, eyes drinking in the plainer room that was still beautiful. “That is enough for tonight, Bëor,” Finrod added, already going to the dresser.

“But—” the large man protested.

“I will be fine,” Finrod said with such certainty Curufin almost wanted to try and prove him wrong. “He _is_ my cousin.”

“That proves nothing,” Bëor said, eyes narrowed at Curufin and Curufin looked impassively back at him.

“Even if I did promise,” Curufin said after a beat, and Finrod turned around with some clean clothes held in his hands. They were his own, Curufin noticed. “You would not believe me, so what is the point?”

“Bëor,” Finrod said, voice firm. “It is fine.”

Finally, after a few more grumbles, and Finrod’s soothing voice making quiet promises, Bëor left and closed the door.

“He wants you,” Curufin remarked, trying to sound mild as he looked at the closed door. “Is that how you keep him in line?”

“Wants me?” Finrod said under his breath, and when Curufin looked back he handed him the clothes. “I do not need anything such as that to keep him in line. He is my bodyguard.”

“And he desires you,” Curufin said again. “He might even love you. How poetic, how pathetic.”

It did not get a rise out of Finrod like Curufin had half been hoping. He only arched his brows slightly, holding the clothes out still, insistently. “You are awfully quick to judge. Change. Your clothes will only make you colder now.”

Curufin reached for the clothes, setting them on the side table he stood near and shrugged out of his suit jacket. Bending down, he unlaced his shoes and pulled his socks off with quick motions. He paused when his hand went for his tie because Finrod still stood there, watching him. Curufin swallowed past his dry throat, because he had expected Finrod to have the decency to look away. He yanked his tie off and met Finrod’s eyes, starting to unbutton his shirt. Because Finrod had not looked away it felt like a dare now.

He reached the bottom of his shirt and threw it on top of his soaking jacket. His fingers went for the edge of his undershirt, pausing there for a telling moment before he hooked his fingers on the bottom and yanked the soaking garment up over his head in one fast motion.

“You are staring,” he said, and his voice broke. He had never loathed his own body more, for that obvious betrayal.

“I am sorry,” Finrod said softly, but not like he meant it and when Curufin searched out his eyes again, they were hot. There were goosebumps all over Curufin’s skin and he could at least blame the chill and his still wet pants for that. Instead of pulling on the shirt Finrod had handed him, he hesitated with his hands on the top of his pants.

“Do you often seduce your guests?” Curufin demanded.

“No,” Finrod said, and a note of wryness entered his voice. “Is that what I am doing? Is it working?”

“Of course not,” Curufin snapped but everything betrayed him when Finrod took a step forward.

“Look at you,” Finrod said, and he reached a hand out, his long fingertips reaching out to press along Curufin’s jaw. Sucking his breath in, Curufin held his gaze, fingers still hovering at the catch of his pants. “You know you are beautiful, do you not?”

“Yes,” Curufin said and added, before he could stop himself. “Just as you know you are.”

“You are trembling,” Finrod remarked, and the tips of his fingers were fever hot.

“It is nothing personal,” Curufin replied. They were so close he could feel Finrod’s breath on his mouth. He wanted to close his eyes and refused. Desire clogged his throat and made it hard to catch his breath. He tried to mentally trace the steps that brought them here and wondered when or how he had caused this in Finrod.

“You still need to get out of those pants,” Finrod said, quietly and Curufin whimpered, the sound too loud between them as he hurried undid the fastenings and shoved his pants down, kicking them to one side. He stood naked in front of Finrod, still damp and shaking because Finrod had still not looked away.

“I had meant,” Finrod murmured. “To have you eat. It is late and you must be hungry.”

“I can eat later,” Curufin said, because he was choking on want and Finrod’s fingers were still on his chin. He was not inexperienced, but also by no means did he have more than a handful of fumbled and often brief encounters to his name. None of them had made him feel like this, like he was burning up and aching just from having Finrod stare at him with his hand holding his chin.

He startled and moaned when Finrod’s other hand suddenly traced down his back, hot against his damp and clammy skin. Biting his lip hard, he shifted desperately into the motion, Finrod still staring at him barely a hands width apart. Finrod’s other hand moved from his chin down his throat, tracing down his chest to meet up with his other hand at the base of Curufin’s spine, before both of them trailed back up his side, flaring heat in their wake.

Curufin was still damp and cold but he felt like he was burning up from the inside and where Finrod touched him. “Do not you dare,” he started to growl, only it came out needy and desperate. He almost let slip a grateful moan when Finrod slammed their mouths together. His was already still open, in the middle of a word and it made Finrod’s invasion that much easier. When Finrod got too confident, Curufin sucked his tongue and then bit it. He could taste the hint of blood in his mouth and yet Finrod did not stop kissing him.

Instead he pushed Curufin back to the bed and Curufin fell in surprise when the back of the frame hit his knees. But it was worth it to lie there, because Finrod remained standing and started undoing the buttons of his vest. Propping himself up slightly on his elbows, Curufin realized he was watching Finrod much as Finrod had only recently watched him.

Finrod reached both hands behind his neck, and it drew attention to his arms, his neck, and Curufin was still violently biting at his mouth to stay quiet. Finrod held his gaze as he unclasped the necklace, the jewels slithering down from his neck and across his chest before Finrod caught them in one hand. He causally held it for a moment, before letting the whole thing cascade down onto the bed, careless.

Unable to sit still any more, Curufin lunged up, almost tearing the buttons of Finrod’s shirt in his haste to strip him and feel the heat of his skin against his own. After a moment of that, Finrod pushed him back down again, and Curufin was too startled to resist. Instead he fell on his back as Finrod yanked his undershirt over his head, ruffling his golden hair and tore his pants down.

At least, Curufin thought giddily as Finrod straddled him, the gold of his hair was nothing like the pale, almost silver look of Celegorm’s. It made tangling his fingers up in the strands and yanking Finrod down that much easier.

He lost himself in the slide of Finrod’s heated skin, in the quiet sounds he made at the back of his throat, so different from the moans Curufin could not stop himself from making. Finrod was slender but still taller than he was—not as broad as Celegorm, and Curufin was as thankful for that as he was about his hair—and yet stronger and more precise in every motion he made then the few women Curufin had laid with were.

Curufin felt his skin go from clammy to flushed and hot in too short of a time, and he hoped the walls were thick enough because he could not stop his increasing volume, ending on a yell that was far too revealing as he came from rutting up against Finrod’s hip and his fingers. Finrod only smiled, trailing his fingers up his own stomach before back down and across Curufin’s as his own hips increased their pace, Curufin feeling boneless but still needy beneath him.

When Finrod threw his throat back, revealing the long pale column and came with barely a strangled sound, deep in his chest and caught forever in his throat, Curufin reached his hand up, tracing his fingers along Finrod’s throat and thinking about his earlier desire to strangle him. Instead, he let Finrod sag forward, catching himself on his arms before he collapsed on Curufin.

“So that is not commonly how you treat your guests?” Curufin asked, because he was comfortable, sprawled over the bed and Finrod was still holding himself up with shaking arms.

It took Finrod a second to focus, looking up at him through his disheveled hair and Curufin wondered if Finrod would unduly protest being thrown over and Curufin burying his nose between his thighs. He did not move.

“No,” Finrod rasped and apparently all those quietly strangled sounds wrecked his voice. Curufin felt himself forgive him a little for remaining quiet when he could no. “You seem to bring something out in people.”

Curufin managed a chuckle. “Usually it is violence.”

“Who says,” Finrod asked, and he shifted, lowering himself onto one elbow and Curufin felt his chest jump as Finrod ran those long fingers across his collarbone, up his throat and to the corner of his mouth. “This not another form of violence anyway?”

They ate, Curufin finally donning the shirt Finrod had handed him earlier, but Finrod apparently content to eat in the nude. Afterward, Curufin threw him on to the bed and tried to see if controlling the pace of their coupling would sooth his other hunger, the one that blazed under his breast bone.

It did not.

He did not tell Finrod that.

In the morning he gathered Celegorm up, who looked wan and pained still, but his gunshot wound was neatly stitched up and bandaged and in a few weeks time he would be fine.

“Was our cousin’s hospitality up to your standards?” Celegorm asked, and Curufin realized with a jolt Celegorm did not know. Yet, at any rate, he amended because it would only be a matter of time. They walked back through the club, empty now in the morning and dimmer, but no less beautiful. It still made Curufin ache.

“It was,” Curufin said softly, and this time Celegorm moved without leaning on him. “He is most gracious. I presume eventually he will want something from us, though.”

“Not everyone is as scheming as you are,” Celegorm said, teasing and warm.

“Oh,” Curufin said, and smiled. “He is.” Celegorm’s eyes slid over to him, and Curufin pretended not to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finrod actually had decent intentions. He was just going to feed Curufin and get him dry clothes but Curufin kept staring at him, too obvious, and he was so vulnerable and pointy and desperate and Finrod made some really bad choices.


	3. Celegorm/Orome Quiet Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by liveoakwithmoss on tumblr with "Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character trying to calm another down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]" 
> 
> This is a really undefined time and might never end up in the actual story but. It's set possibly in this verse so it's going here anyway.

Celegorm slammed into the apartment, clawing at his tie and swearing. 

“You are panicking,” Orome said, entering behind him.

“Of course I am panicking,” Celegorm said, tearing his jacket with blood on the cuffs off and throwing it away into a corner. “Hell, you should be too.”

Orome watched him for a long moment before reaching a hand out and drawing Celegorm in, his hands resting on Celegorm’s shoulders. “Breathe.”

“Fuck,” Celegorm said, turning his head away. “This was not–”

“It happened,” Orome cut him off. “It’s done. But  you have to calm down now.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Celegorm snarled, but he was matching his breathing to Orome’s. 

“Because I am, presumably,” Orome said and Celegorm’s breath caught on a chuckle, edged with hysteria and pain. 

“If you offer me tea, I will break a plate and leave,” Celegorm said after a beat and Orome smooth a hand over his hair. 

“Alright, no tea,” he said, giving the kettle in question a long look over Celegorm’s shoulder. Instead, he started humming under his breath, swaying Celegorm slightly. The younger man slid his hands around Orome’s waist and held on, letting him slowly move them in a circle around the small entry way. 

“It just, it was not supposed to happen like that, tonight,” Celegorm said. 

“I know,” Orome sighed, kissing the top of his hair and holding on tighter. “I know.”


	4. Finrod/Ulmo "Amuse Me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Anon on Tumblr with any characters for "Leave a “Amuse Me” in my ask, and I will write a funny drabble about one character trying to cheer another up." Well. It sorta got the second part of the prompt? Ulmo is trying to cheer him up but it's not so amusing...
> 
> Set pre-timeline, shortly after Finrod opened his club and after they pretty much broke up.

Finrod stopped, his hair still a mess around his head and only in his shirtsleeves to see Ulmo sitting at his bar. 

“Excuse me?” he managed, rubbing his eyes to make sure he really was seeing what the thought he was. When he opened them again, Ulmo was still sitting there, and there was still a cat in a jeweled collar on his bar. 

“Good morning to you too,” Ulmo said, amused.

“Afternoon,” Finrod corrected, because his watch said far past one and he had been up the night before until dawn streaked the sky. Which is why he had been quite certain the bar had been closed and locked. “Remind me to yell at security.”

“Security knows better then to keep me out,” Ulmo said and Finrod frowned. “You’ve been stressed lately, darling.”

“Don’t call me that,” Finrod said, flopping his long limbs down onto the stool next to Ulmo. He eyed the cat, who sat with her back perfectly straight and her tail around her paws. “Why a cat?”

“She is your cheer up gift,” Ulmo said, stroking one ear and the cat purred, butting her head up. “I haven’t named her yet.”

“But you gave her a collar to match mine,” Finrod said. 

“Yes,” Ulmo said. “She rather reminded me of you, all told.”

Finrod’s brows went up and he slid his eyes over to look at Ulmo. “Come again?”

“All good gifts should be something that cheer the receiver up,” Ulmo said, bulldozing past the question. “And that are useful. A cat is thus a glorious gift, as they bring many years of cheering up, and are great decoration. Besides, she fits in here.” 

“You thought a cat would cheer me up?” Finrod asked and Ulmo grinned, pushing himself to his feet as abruptly as Finrod was certain he had sat down. 

“You need a friend.”

“I do not need anyone,” Finrod snapped and Ulmo stopped, staring down at him and Finrod felt his heart curl up and twist into an impossible shape under that stare. He wanted to reach out and pull Ulmo down, whisper that he needed him, that he wanted him to stay, that he loved him. But because he wanted to, he refused to.

From Ulmo’s expression, it seemed he wished to do something similar, to reclaim Finrod as his lover. Finrod felt a tiny shiver go up his spine because he knew if Ulmo dared to touch him he would cave like a house of cards, like the ones Turgon would build when they stayed up too late talking of their dreams with each other. 

“Perhaps accepting the cat would be good for you?” Ulmo said finally. “God knows you could do with smiling again.”

“I smile plenty,” Finrod said.

Ulmo stared at him again, too heavy. Finrod felt it press down on him like a physical touch. “Smiling for your patrons, perfect and sweet is not the same as your real smile, and god help you if you don’t remember the difference anymore.” There was anger deep in his voice, and he left without saying goodbye. 

Finrod was left staring at the cat, who looked unblinking back at him. “I know the different,” he said quietly, and she lifted a dainty paw and washed the side of it, as if she believed him as much as Ulmo had. 


	5. Amrod/Amras "Worth"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted on tumblr by forgetful-asexual for a ship meme "Things you said I wasn't supposed to hear"
> 
> Set pre-timeline and pre-relationship

“You know, you’re awful close like to your brother,” and Amrod stopped dead from where he was still behind the wall. He had been coming outside, to see where his brother had gone. Peeking around the wall, he saw Amras sitting on a bench, over looking the park. 

There was a girl with him, her dress to her knees and her bleached blonde hair in a perfect bob. Her smile showed too many teeth and she was leaning into Amras’ space. Amrod tried to remind himself he had no _right_  to be angry about that. 

“Well, you know how brothers can be,” Amras said, laughing it off and Amrod wanted to punch the wall. He remained quiet instead. “We’re close, but we’re twins. All our brothers are close.” 

“I can’t even imagine living with  _seven_  brothers,” she simpered.

“Well, technically, six,” and Amrod knew the smile Amras was giving her. It was the same one he gave Curufin and their father when he wanted something.His fingers itched and still he stood, hidden by shadows and watching.

She said something else and Amras laughed. “As for Amrod, we’re close, but it’s not like we’re tied at the hip, you know my meaning?”

“You sure?” she asked, running a hand down her hair and neck, stopping at her exposed collarbone. Amrod wanted to march over and point out her complete lack of charm or subtly.  _You were not supposed to make it obvious_  and he felt a scream bubbling in his chest. “You always seem like you’re together. I can’t play second _fiddle_  to someone’s  _brother.”_

“Second fiddle?” Amras laughed, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “How could you play second fiddle to someone like him? Doll, you are much more important.”

 “Oh good,” she sighed, and leaned into kiss him the instant he said she was more important then Amrod. 

He still stood there, listening to them for what felt like hours instead of minutes until they laughing untangled themselves. “I’m getting a ride back home,” she said, sounding breathless and fluttery. “I can’t miss it.”  

“Of course not, sweetheart,” Amras said and she went past Amrod without noticing him. Amras followed more slowly.

“Was it worth lying so she would kiss you?” Amrod asked as Amras had almost passed him and his twin stopped completely. 

“You were there?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Amrod said, wishing he had though to steal one of Caranthir’s cigarettes earlier that night. 

They stared at each other until Amras licked his mouth. “No, it wasn’t worth it,” he said and walked away, leaving Amrod feeling even more confused and jittery, his heart too fast in his chest and his finger aching for what he did not know. 


	6. Amrod, Amras and Caranthir "Again"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by liveoakwithmoss on tumblr for "Leave a “Call Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about one character asking for another [be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify.]"

“Where is Amrod?” Amras demanded, shoving past Caranthir the instant he opened the door.

“Why would he be here?” Caranthir asked, looking both ways up and down the hall before closing the door again.

Amras just crossed his arms and stared.

“Look,” Caranthir sighed. “I have no desire to get into your fights–”

“Aha,” Amras said, raising a hand and slicing it through the air. “So he is here, or was, to know we were fighting.”

Caranthir gave him a long look. “Or I could figure it out because you are not together and this agitated. It is not difficult, Amras.”

Amras’ lips curled back into a sneer before he got a handle on himself and smoothed his expression out. “I just want to know where he is.”

“If he does not want to be found, that is not my business,” Caranthir said. “And you might consider leaving him alone until he wants to be found.”

“No,” Amras snapped. “Fine, if you will be unhelpful,” and he slammed through the door again.

Caranthir stood there for a long minute before the door to the kitchen creaked open, Amrod poking his head through. 

“I did actually mean what I said about getting in the middle of your fights,” Caranthir said, tapping out a cigarette and staring at him.

“I know,” Amros said. “Can I still stay here tonight?”

Caranthir sighed, running a hand over his face. “In the morning you have to go talk to him and sort your problems out.”

“Deal,” Amros said, in the same small and subdued voice. 

“I am not doing this for you again,” Caranthir warned, already knowing he would.


	7. Caranthir, Amrod "Easier"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by liveoakwithmoss on tumblr for "Leave a “Call Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about one character asking for another [be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify.]"

Caranthir shoved through the patrons clustered around the door, several of them clutching their pearls and with their heads bowed to better gossip. “Where is Amrod?” he demanded, the instant he saw Maedhros. 

“He already left,” Maedhros said. “Amras took him.”

Caranthir did not even mention that was basically useless information. “Where did they go?”

“Celegorm’s apartment,” Maedhros said, turning back to look at where reporters were crowding into the area, flash bulbs stuck on their cameras. 

“This is going to make the news,” Caranthir said, not a question.

“No actual witnesses,” Maedhros murmured. 

“You will stay and watch?” Caranthir said, another question that did not much need to be ask or answered.

“Yes,” Maedhros said anyway and Caranthir continued his path through the crowd, coming out the other side and slipping away, taking a circuitous path to Celegorm and Curufin’s apartment. 

“Where is Amrod?” he asked, when Curufin opened the door. 

“I do not remember you being this concerned for me,” Curufin remarked.

“No one is concerned for you, because you give them no room to be,” Caranthir said, already slipping past Curufin, and his brother let him.

 He found Amrod curled up in the back corner of the living room. “I sent Amras out on an errand, with Celegorm,” Amrod said, not looking up at him as Caranthir crouched down. “News must travel fast.”

“I am still surprised he left,” Caranthir said. “But news travels very fast in this family.”

“I remember reading about warrior cultures who would celebrate something like this,” Amrod said into his elbow. “I do not much feel like it.”

Caranthir paused, shifting around so he could sit next to Amrod, his back against the wall. “Killing your first man is never going to be easy,” he said. “I am not sure it is something I would want to celebrate either.”

“Does it get easier?” Amrod asked, and Caranthir could hear Curufin moving around, probably listening to them.

“I am not sure that is how I would put it,” he settled for finally, and heard the hitch in Amrod’s breathing. “I some ways. Not in others.”

“But this is our life,” Amrod said quietly.

“Yes,” Caranthir agreed and they sat like that, backs against the wall of their brother’s apartment for a long time.


	8. Ulmo Finrod Turgon "The Night Before New Year's Eve"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set the night before New Year's Eve probably 1916. Or 1915ish. So over 6 years pre timeline.
> 
> HEY JUST TO LET EVERYONE KNOW THIS VERSE ISN'T DEAD

There was a war on, which always meant profit if you knew where to look and how to find it.

 

And Ulmo liked to think he was the master of finding anything he wanted, despite any obstacles. It wasn't even that he needed more money, between his family's wealth and his own acquisitions. But where the rest of his family, even dear angry Oromë, seemed content to settle down into some occupation, he felt an itch under his skin to keep moving, to keep finding, to keep breaking things and seeing how to put them back together.

 

He had been drunk when he laughingly told Manwë he was like the ocean, always on the move and deeper then anyone could imagine, but he still sometimes thought of that comparison and smiled.

 

It was as good description as any.

 

Watching the smoke curl up from his cigarette, he looked back and forth down the dark and mostly empty streets. The sky was still trying to decide whether it was going to snow or not, and his nose was probably red from the chill.

 

But he liked moments like this, just him and the streetlamps and for a moment the world was full of so many possibilities he could taste them all.

 

Tomorrow night the streets would be covered with revelers, no matter the chill or the ordinances against too much noise. It was a night when he felt perfectly at home with the screaming and drunk glittering crowds that passed the old year over in favor of the new.

 

But tonight—wasn't quiet anymore because there was a clatter and a yell and like a moth drawn to the flames he was turning and moving over.

 

“Be quiet,” he heard a voice hiss and there was another clatter, like a trash can being turned over.

 

“Why?” a louder, clearer voice demanded and there was as muffled scrape. “There's no one to listen.”

 

“That's the point—”

 

“ _Relax_ , Turgon,” and the accents were Noldorin, the way they turned their vowels and the lilt of their voices and Ulmo was drawn even closer, as the pair finally stumbled out, one taller and dark haired, face serious and already careworn despite his young age. The other one—and Ulmo came to a complete stop—was hanging with one arm off his shoulder, and he could see they both had guns. But that couldn't distract him from the lazy indolence, or the way blond hair fell into the shorter one's eyes. “We might as well be kings of the world tonight.”

 

“Finrod,” the taller—Turgon—said suddenly, and Finrod slowly lifted his head, eyes finding Ulmo standing, cigarette dangling from his fingers and staring obviously like he had seen the sun rise when he expected the moon.

 

“Can we help you?” he asked, with a lazy smile and didn't straighten.

 

“I don't know yet,” he said, matching Finrod's smile and seeing Turgon tense, wary and unsure.

 

But Finrod just kept smiling and for a second it felt like everything in the world came to a stop, and Ulmo understood what being still meant.

 


	9. Mablung/Celegorm Seven Deadly Sins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look okay this story woke up like a fucking hurricane but I don't have the mental energy tonight for a chapter with plot so uh? Have this? Instead?

Celegorm laughed, throwing his head back as Mablung finally pushed inside him.

Now that the scuffle about who was going to do what was done, and he had lost, he could let himself go and just _enjoy_ the moment, the pants in his ear and Mablung bracing his hands next to Celegorm’s head. “You’re so easy once you get past the fight,” Mablung said, rolling his hips and Celegorm hummed, pressing his knees against Mablung’s waist.

“Oh, but the fight is _almost_ as fun as this,” he said.

“Nah,” Mablung panted. “You know it’s not. This is what you want, no matter what you act like.” He shifted his weight onto one hand, and dragged the other down Celegorm’s chest. “What a hedonist you actually are.”

“Fancy word,” Celegorm said, catching himself on a moan. “Your momma teach you that one?”

Mablung dug his fingers into Celegorm’s stomach, making him jump and then moan as the pain flared into pleasure. “Clever,” he said, not sounding impressed at all. “You’re gluttonous.”

And Celegorm laughed again, because everything felt wonderful and he wouldn’t even deny the accusation. “Isn’t that one of the seven deadly sins?”

“Yeah,” Mablung said. “Hey, aren’t there seven of you?”

Celegorm snickered, dropping one of his legs down to urge Mablung to move closer, faster. “Yeah.”

“I take it back,” Mablung said, nuzzling his head into Celegorm’s neck before biting the skin there. “You’re lust.”

“Not gonna match us all up, are you?” Celegorm asked, rolling his head to one side to give Mablung more access to his neck.

“That brother of yours?” Mablung said, biting underneath Celegorm’s ear and Celegorm shivered, knowing it would leave a mark. “Trying to decide if he’s be pride or envy. You know the way he looks—”

Celegorm went from languid to throwing Mablung over in a second. “No, he doesn’t,” he said, bracing his legs around Mablung’s waist as he ended up on top of him.

“Yeah, he does,” Mablung said with a grin, looking up at him in the almost dark room. “Like he would claw my eyes out just for looking. Can’t imagine what he’d do if he knew what we really got up to,” and he braced his legs so he could thrust up and the pleasure sparked up and down Celegorm’s spine so he threw his head back and groaned, even though more and more anger was leaking around the edges. “The other one, the dark haired one right above you? Think he’d be greed.”

“We’re not so easy to pin down,” Celegorm said, running a hand through his hair to distract himself from all he felt.

“Yeah?” Malbung laughed. “Had you pinned pretty good.”

“And now you don’t,” Celegorm said, using his legs to push himself up and down and Mablung bit off a Sindarian curse.

“Lust suits you,” he said, when he caught his breath back.

Celegorm laughed, the sound carrying around the room and bouncing back at them. “Flattery,” he panted, leaning down to catch Mablung’s pants in his mouth. “How original.”

Mablung dug his fingers into the base of Celegorm’s spine before settling on his waist, helping him lift his hips up as they set a punishing pace together. “Gotta get you here somehow.”

“Like this will happen again.”

“You say that every time,” Mablung said, and Celegorm’s black eye was already coming in, and there was still some dried blood at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll believe you’re not coming back when you tell me no.”

Celegorm grinned, licking at the edge of his mouth.

“So which one of you is sloth?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Celegorm said, snapping his hips down just to make Mablung’s breath catch. “Shut up and focus.”

“I can focus and talk,” Mablung said and Celegorm bit his lower lip just to make him quiet.


	10. Sauron, Gandalf, and Morgoth "First Time and Last Time"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided oh yeah if all the Valar are related why not all the Maiar too? That will be fun!
> 
> And now I have a whole heap of regrets. Also a few too many Sauron feels I'd really rather not have. (Gandalf sorta stole the show from what was supposed to be focused on Sauron and Morgoth's first meeting) (This is also one of the few times where I deal with Tolkien's name changing shenanigans because Sauron choosing a new name for himself with Morgoth fits his character strangely well so he gets to start off as Mairon)
> 
> This is also set somewhere in the 1910s or even the late 1900s.

The first time Sauron saw Morgoth he was standing on a street corner next to his brother, watching his cigarette end turn to ash. His eyes strayed up from the ash, settling on a tall, dark haired man leaning in a doorway, a stouter woman standing underneath his arm as he smirked.

She wasn’t smiling back.

“Mairon” Olórin said abruptly, pushing his prematurely grey hair back under his hat.

“What?” Mairon asked. “Are you done prattling on?”

“Brat,” Olórin said, with enough affection it set Mairon’s teeth on edge.

“You’re the one who wanted my attention.”

“I’ve been talking to you for fifteen minutes, I obviously wanted your attention,” Olórin said.

“What you were saying was boring,” Mairon said, dropping his cigarette and stomping on it.

Olórin laughed, like he was used to it, and that he loved his brother anyway. When Mairon looked up he found the woman from earlier to be gone, but the man was still standing there, considering him from across the street.

“We should go,” he said, cutting Olórin off mid-sentence.

“Brother?” Olórin asked, cocking his head at him.

“I said let’s go,” Mairon said, lighting another cigarette and starting to walk away.

“I don’t suddenly see what the rush to get home is,” Olórin said.

“Because I’d rather be there than on this street corner,” Mairon snapped and he caught Olórin looking over his shoulder as they walked.

“You never like being home.”

Mairon grunted rather than saying anything else.

-0-

Of course as soon as he stepped inside the apartment he was brutally reminded all over again of how much he hated it.

They were lucky to have it, he told himself, slinging his coat off and onto the rickety coat rack.

They were lucky to have it.

Some days he thought what it would feel like to burn the damn building down.

“Don’t forget you’re on dinner duty tonight,” Olórin said.

“Have I ever forgotten?” Mairon asked. “What time will you even be back tonight?”

Olórin shrugged. “You know I never know.”

Mairon grunted, leaning down to coax the wood stove to life, his burnished red hair reflecting the flames for a second. “Will you go out tonight?” Olórin asked, casually, as if the answer meant nothing to him.

“Go out?” Mairon asked. “Of course. I won’t remain cooped up in here you know it.”

“We are—”

“Lucky to have this place,” Mairon said, a rote phrase they had passed back and forth countless times, especially when they lay on the hard floor, only blankets to keep themselves comfortable and warm during the long nights.

“It’s not much is it?” Olórin said wryly.

“It’s never much,” Mairon said.

“So how thin will the stew be tonight, do you think?” Olórin asked, trying to sound cheerful and Mairon ignored him, pushing the single window open and lighting a cigarette, blowing the smoke outside into the cold air.

-0-

There was a dance hall, not terribly far from their tiny hole of an apartment where Mairon often when when Olórin went to his club. At least Olórin went because he was in the band, and brought home what little money they had.

Mairon went simply because he couldn’t stand to stay inside with his own mind.

He danced with the pretty young working class girls, who fluttered their eyes at him. He nursed a drink, watching the movements of the room with a disinterested gaze.

“You look bored,” someone said and Mairon slowly slid his eyes over to see the man who had caught his attention earlier leaning against the wall by his side. Mairon felt something that might have been panic thump in his chest before he rolled his shoulder, looking away.

“Even if I was it is no concern of yours.”

“No, it’s not,” the man agreed, and he had dark eyes. Mairon hadn’t noticed that from across the street. “But I’m curious why you’re here if that’s the case.”

“That’s not your concern either,” Mairon said stiffly, holding himself perfectly still.

“You know what,” the man said, casual, like he didn’t care at all. “You should dance with me.”

“This isn’t that kind of club,” Mairon said, startled, eyes darting over.

“Any club is that kind of club if you’re rich enough,” the man said, pushing away from the wall and Mairon watched him warily.

“Who says I’m the sort of boy to go along with this?” Mairon asked, not moving.

“The way you watched me does.”

Mairon’s mouth drew back into a sneer but before he could protest again, the man talked over him. “You see the way others look at you, don’t you? You could have anyone in this room and they’d get on their knees for you willingly. And yet you can barely be bothered to spare a glance on any of them. You want something else, something __more__.”

“And so far all you are is a talker,” Mairon said.

“If you dance with me, you’ll never be bored again,” the man said, holding his hand out and for a long moment Mairon just stared at it, his own hands still tucked into his pockets.

“That’s a hell of a promise to offer.”

“Ah,” the man smiled. “But I can make good on it.”

Another breath and Mairon took his hand, letting the stranger pull him into the middle of the floor. He felt a thrill that might have been fear for a second, because he could feel everyone’s eyes on them. Whispers followed them as the man pulled him closer, began the sweeping steps around the floor.

“I feel like I’m being led on,” he said.

“Don’t you believe I can make good on my promises?”

“Not even remotely.”

“And yet, you are dancing with me.”

Mairon went to jerk his hands back but the man held on, squeezing tightly enough it hurt. “Let go.”

“I should probably introduce myself,” he said, still not letting go and with everyone’s eyes on them Mairon didn’t want to make more of a scene then there already was. “My name is Morgoth. I’m certain you’ve heard of me.”

Mairon froze, Morgoth suddenly performing a turn that ended with a slight dip, as much as the dance allowed. “And I have a proposition for you,” Morgoth said.

-0-

Mairon stormed from the dance hall, hands shaking as he tried to light a cigarette.

He’d forgotten his hat and Olórin was going to end up scolding him for it. They couldn’t afford to just replace clothing lost like that—

“Are you really so ready to leave?” Morgoth asked, and Mairon hadn’t noticed him following him.

“As opposed to what?” Mairon asked, turning. “You—”

“You’re poor,” Morgoth said and Mairon’s eyes narrowed. “Brilliant, but poor. You can barely hold down a job, can you? Yet you have ambition and drive. You just don’t have the name or the connections. You’re beautiful enough there would be an easy job for you,” and Mairon hissed, opening his mouth but Morgoth continued over him. “But you don’t seem to realize how easy it would be to use that to manipulate those around you. I can give you everything you ever wanted.”

“Why?” Mairon demanded. “Why approach me why follow me why offer—”

“Because I know exactly what you want,” Morgoth said. “And I think if I give it to you, you’ll do great things for me. I can give you wealth, respect, anything you want. All I want from you in return is your loyalty. And,” his smile was cruel in the flickering street lights. “If it turns out I’m wrong, that you aren’t all I think you are, I can always just drop you back here and you can get on with your life.”

He reached a hand out, fingers trailing along the bottom of Mairon’s jaw and Mairon almost jerked himself away, his usual reaction to anyone touching him. “But we. We can do great things together.”

“Prove it to me,” Mairon said. He spared a thought for his brother, working so hard to try and make things work for them, to make ends meet, waiting for his chance. “Prove you can do everything you say.” He let his eyes flicker down, to rest on Morgoth’s mouth obviously enough he noticed. “And I’ll give you what you want. Not before that.”

“Of course,” Morgoth said. “I could ask for no more.”

Mairon let him trail a hand down his throat, an obvious claim before he turned away again, walking quickly away into the night, heartbeat loud in his chest.

-0-

“Mairon,” Olórin whispered that night, when he came crawling into their make shift bed. “Mairon. Our luck is going to change. I got—I got offered something tonight. It will change everything. A real job, and then I’m sure I’ll be able to get you something too. Once I’m in. It’s with an important family, a good family.”

Mairon felt his brother take his cold hands under the blanket. “I don’t understand it, it was the most amazing thing. It’s going to change everything, I promise you that.”

And in the darkness Mairon could see their paths diverging for the first time since they ran away from home together, Olórin’s hand warm in his as they left all that had come before behind. “Something happened for me too,” he whispered.

“Mairon,” Olórin said warningly.

“It’s going to be okay,” Mairon whispered. He squeezed his brother’s hand. “I’m pleased for you. I can’t ask that you’d be happy for me in turn, because I know you won’t be. You won’t even understand why.”

“Mairon—”

“But it’s going to be okay,” he said softly. “We’re both going to be where we belong.”

And Olórin fell silent, because after so many fights he knew he could never change Mairon’s mind. “Then good luck, brother,” he said and that night they fell asleep still holding each other’s hand, something they had not done since they were children, on their own for the first time.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Choke Chain by victoriousscarf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5290115) by [pumpkinpodfic (thegreatpumpkin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/pumpkinpodfic)




End file.
